


The Return

by silverwhittlingknife



Series: A Thousand Ninjas [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Gen, Protective Dick Grayson, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, cameos from Damian & Alfred & Titans etc. but not really enough to tag, missing scenes from canon, they have terrible communication skills but also they all really love each other: a fic, what if Red Robin angst BUT ALSO trainsurfing nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverwhittlingknife/pseuds/silverwhittlingknife
Summary: I did it. I saved the people he loved.  I saved everything he worked so hard to build.  No compromises.  He won’t say anything, he never does. But I know. I know that Bruce will be proud of me.… Not a bad day.Tim falls.  Dick catches him.It is a near, near thing.Red Robin 11 and 12, from Dick’s POV.  Tim comes home.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: A Thousand Ninjas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126484
Comments: 21
Kudos: 158





	1. Return

Batman and Robin are in Midtown when Dick’s comm crackles.

Babs: “Dick, it's me. I’m in the Cave, but something’s going down. Tim’s in Gotham. Steph contacted me. The two of them are doing something, but I don’t - wait, hang on -“

Tim. In Gotham.

The leap of hope is sharp and painful, but Dick pushes it down. He already got his hopes up when Tim came back to fight the Lanterns, but no dice: as soon as they were defeated, Tim left town again. If Tim’s in town and hasn’t gotten in touch, he probably doesn’t want to. So: _be patient, don’t get your hopes up, give him space, wait him out,_ all good mantras even if _Tim, Gotham_ has already put a restless itch all through his skin.

No. Give him space.

Except, no, _stupid_ , the Lazarus Pit thing. Dick needs to tell Tim about that. Continued radio silence is not an option. Tim needs to know. That Dick had - that the body had - that Bruce might _actually_ be - 

Dick’s not ready for that conversation. Not yet. Not _now_. He needs to - plan it. He can call Tim in a few days. Tim answered his phone when Dick called about the Lanterns thing, so he’ll probably pick up again. Except no, that’s stupid, because if Tim is in Gotham _now_ -

He’s wrestling with the problem, mentally fighting with himself, when Babs suddenly says: “What the _hell_ -?”

That’s not good. 

“What?” Dick asks.

Oracle’s voice is grim. “Someone hacked into the system here, and then tried to cover it up. A few days ago. They’re good, but - wait. It's _Tim_. I changed the system permissions, but he’s -“ A loud noise, and then Babs’ voice goes sharp: “Okay, what the hell is going -“

He tries to get the comms to connect again, but nothing. 

Communications: _dead_. 

He tries the backup comm. Nothing. Asks Damian to check his. Same. Blackout. 

Not good.

* * *

Dick and Damian are en route back to the Cave when he spots Tim.

On a rooftop, threatening someone. Still in Jason’s costume.

There’s a bald girl looking on, in a tactical vest, arms crossed. Clearly an ally of Tim’s, from her stance.

She looks… not trustworthy. Trained martial artist, you can tell from the ready stance. The way she’s got her wrists tilted reminds Dick of Talia.

Dick and Damian swing down.

Dick _trusts_ Tim, he reminds himself, even though the combination of _Tim hacked into the system_ and then _total communications breakdown_ , not to mention the creepy costume, have settled into his bones in a very unwelcome way.

Still. He lands five feet away. Signals Damian to stay behind him. See _Tim_ signal his _own_ \- sidekick? - to stay behind _him_.

This isn’t a _fight_ , Dick reminds himself. This is a - a _check-in_. A hello.

“We need to talk,” he says, in the Batman voice.

“We also need to get you a longer skirt,” Damian says. “Have some decency.”

Presumably he means Tim’s tunic-thing.

Tim’s silent, eying them. His face, under the cowl, is unreadable.

Okay. First move. “Welcome back,” Dick says. “What should I call you?”

“Red Robin seems to have stuck.”

Jason’s old name. Lovely. “The girl?”

“She’s with me,” TIm says, terse.

 _Very_ helpful.

“Well, ‘Red Robin,’” Dick says, “Oracle seems to think you’ve hacked our computer systems and now our communications are down.” He lets that sit. It’s not - _quite_ an accusation. Tim’s face doesn’t change, impassive. “Anything you’d care to tell me?”

“We’re under attack and I have to move _now_ ,” Tim says, hard. But, concession: “I have Batgirl checking on Oracle.”

Babs _did_ say he and Steph were doing something. Okay. Okay, that’s… okay. Dick tries to think of how to pose the next question in a diplomatic way. _What the hell do you think you’re up to_ is probably not ideal, and neither is _feel free to spit out what’s going on at any time, thanks._

“Tt. Batgirl,” Damian scoffs to himself. “More like _Fatgirl_.”

(Damian acquired a rhyming dictionary recently. It’s been… an experience. Dick is really hoping the novelty wears off soon.)

Dick’s still weighing his words when:

“Wait,” Damian says, in a voice that means _imminent violence_ , and then: “ASSASSIN!”

Uh oh. Damian leaps, the girl dodges, Damian kicks, Dick hesitates. Damian’s reckless but - if she _is_ League -

“She’s League!” Damian snaps, almost at the same moment. “I’ve seen her face, she works for my grandfather!”

The girl dodges, dodges, dodges, but she looks furious. “Back off,” she snarls. “Back the _hell_ -“

Tim grabs Damian. Shit. “ _Enough_ ,” Tim says, sharp. “I told you, she’s with me!”

Damian yanks free, catapults off the wall, leaps for Tim’s throat. Scuffle. “Working with League assassins?” Damian hisses. “Maybe I _was_ wrong about you, Drake. Maybe you _do_ have a spine, after all.”

But Tim’s got the upper hand - grabs him again, and then snarls, in a voice Dick barely recognizes, “ _I don’t have time for this_.”

Damian hits the ground _hard_. Time to intervene. Dick grabs Damian, pulls him away.

Damian’s uncooperative, struggling. “You’re a dead man, Drake!”

Oh boy. Bat-voice time. “Robin, stand _down_.”

Bat-voice plus Bat-glare, and Damian surrenders. Good. Okay, _one_ thing handled. Now Tim.

Tim, who is…ignoring them now. Muttering to himself.

That’s. Really less than encouraging.

(Wild-eyed stare, out by the hill on the outskirts of Gotham, sloppy movements, dark shadows under his eyes. _I know I’m right and I’m going to prove it!_ )

(But, counterpoint: the Black Lanterns. He was fine _then_. Seemed fine. Came when Dick called. Saved their lives. Back-to-back in the cemetery. _\- Tim, you trust me? - Of course_.)

Not enough evidence to know which Tim Dick’s dealing with now: crazy or stable; runaway or ally; disappearing when everything was falling to pieces, coming back when Dick needed him most.

This isn’t the sort of thing Batman can afford to be unsure about.

“Will you _talk_ to me?” Dick says. “You have to give me something here.”

Tim spares him a glance. “You’re a target,” he says briefly. “So’s Robin. But right now I have to get to Lucius Fox.”

 _Not_ helpful. “You have to stop this, you sound like you’re crazy.” He wants to bite his tongue as soon as he’s said the last word, but it’s too late. “You have to explain.”

“There’s no time.”

“ _Please_ ,” Dick says, and despite himself some of the agitation must have actually gotten into his voice, because Tim - looks over, actually _looks_ at him, for what feels like the first time since Dick showed up.

A pause.

He should be able to read the look on Tim’s face. It’s _impossible_ that he can’t read the look on Tim’s face. He knows Tim’s expressions like he knows the pull of a harness, the tug of a line, the swing of a trapeze. 

But the cowl is strange, and unfamiliar, and - 

“Batman,” Tim says, in the new, harder voice. “… Trust me.”

The silence stretches.

 _I want to trust you_ , Dick almost says. _I want to trust you, but you have to give me something_. _I can’t even see your face._

The wind bites against his face, cold. 

Tim’s watching him. 

Always, always, Tim is watching him. Their whole lives in a single moment.

Maybe. Maybe he doesn’t need to read Tim’s face. He knows _Tim_.

Maybe that can be enough.

“Of course,” he says. And he reaches forward, and Tim doesn’t step back, and he touches Tim’s shoulder, and Tim tenses, but he doesn’t pull away.

Okay, this is - okay, actually. Well, of _course_ it is. Dick’s being ridiculous. This is _Tim_. The Black Lanterns weren’t even that long ago. They saved each other’s _lives_.

“What can I do to help?” Dick asks.

“Stay alive,” Tim says. “Keep Robin alive. I’ll call you with the details.”

Then he jumps, swings, is gone.

* * *

_Stay alive. Keep Robin alive._

Bit cryptic there, Timmy.

But Dick—Dick _does_ trust him, actually.

* * *

“Red Robin,” Dick says aloud. “Do you have a name, assassin girl?”

“ _Dead_ girl,” Damian suggests.

Damian’s interpersonal skills are. A work-in-progress.

“Prudence,” the assassin girl says testily. “And keep your filthy bastard midget away from me.”

Charming. Although, hah:

“ _Prudence_ , really?” Dick says. “Somebody missed the mark on _that_ one.”

“Like I’ve never heard that before,” she mutters. “That’s what _Red_ said, too, you know. You two friends or something?

“We,” Dick says. “Yeah. Something like that.”

 _My brother_ , he could say.

* * *

Prudence the Assassin hands over a transmitter, clarifies that it will let them circumvent the blockade, and tells them to expect incoming ninjas. Tim will call them on the transmitter in a bit, she says, to make sure they’re okay. Then she takes off.

Which. Okay.

Dick would really prefer a little more information than this, but okay.

* * *

Tim calls. Not to give the details so much as to give _instructions_ , which, okay. Dick is actually _Batman_ , here, but okay.

“I’m expecting the attacks to come soon,” Tim says, all business. “You don’t need to go anywhere - they’ll come to you - just be ready. I’ll contact you and the others in about twenty minutes to confirm you’re all right.”

The _others_. Other assassins? Other vigilantes? “Tim, _what_ others?”

“Oh, um, Steph, some other people,” Tim says, in a distracted way that means he’s multitasking _while on the call_ , and if he was here Dick would _strangle_ him. “Anyway, I’ve got everybody covered, so you just need to - wait, hang on -”

Indistinct garble for a moment - somebody’s talking to Tim, although too low for Dick to make out any words but Tim’s, and what he _does_ hear doesn’t clarify anything: something something _pen_ , something something _formality._

“Of course,” Tim says, brisk, in his businessman voice. “Thanks, Lucius. And you’re gonna file - perfect, thanks. No, that’s all right, I trust you. If you don’t need anything else?”

Long pause, presumably waiting for Lucius to leave the room.

Lucius Fox. Dick’s been avoiding him for months. He clearly suspects that Hush isn’t the real Bruce Wayne, and Dick doesn’t have a better strategy than evasion, and despite everything he doesn’t really want to lie to Lucius’s face. He knows, he _knows_ , that Hush isn’t a long-term strategy, but the idea of considering - alternatives - feels awful and overwhelming.

Tim, in an undertone. “Dick, you still there?”

“I’m here,” Dick says carefully. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah.”

Thank God. “Look, Tim, you need to be careful with Lucius,” Dick says, maybe a little too sharp but this is _important_. “He’s smart and he’s suspicious. He’s been trying to get me alone for ages - ”

“Yeah, he told me. Don’t worry, it’s handled. And let’s see. I already told you about the ninjas...”

“Tim, _what’s_ handled?”

“Kind of a long story. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

 _Not_ exactly reassuring, but… Tim asked for trust, for time. So Dick bites his tongue instead of demanding an explanation, and Tim’s quiet, and there’s silence for a moment.

Then:

“So, uh,” Tim says.

For the first time he sounds completely like himself, awkward and uncertain, which is - unexpected, after all the terse instruction.

“So, uh,” Tim says. “So that’s everything, I think, and - um, Dick?”

It’s. It’s weird. _Good_ to hear Tim’s normal voice, of course, but - but also weird. Red Robin-terse, and businessman-professional, and Tim-uncertain, all in the space of the last five minutes.

( _Unstable_ , Bruce says in his head. _Unpredictable. Un reliable. I don’t discount the incident with the Black Lanterns, but that was one case, and emotionally-significant besides. You’re putting too much weight on insufficient evidence, Dick. It won’t end well._)

( _You don’t know that,_ Dick argues back, as if Bruce were actually here.)

“What is it?” Dick says.

“So, uh. I _seriously_ don’t think this is gonna be relevant, but, like, just in case. Like, so you know? Cassie has some of my files. Not for right now, for later. And Lucius is gonna be in touch with you. I mean. He might be. And, uh. You can trust them, okay?”

Dick tries to parse this without success. Clear as mud, like everything else today. “What files?”

“It’s not important right now. Just - stay alive, okay? And I’ll be in touch. And -” Tim hesitates. “Be careful,” Tim says at last, and then he cuts the connection.

… Right. Because that’s not concerning at all.

* * *

Two minutes later, Dick and Damian have scouted out a defensive spot on the rooftop but there’s still no sign of oncoming ninjas, so either they’re not here yet or Tim is crazy. Dick doesn’t _think_ Tim is crazy, he’s _almost_ sure, so they’re staying put even though Damian’s sullen about it. But to be honest, _stay put, wait for possibly-imaginary-ninjas while Tim does… something_ is not _Dick’s_ favorite assignment ever, either.

He’s fiddling with his useless communicator, wondering if he can reprogram it somehow, when it buzzes to life again - Babs has finally managed to hack through the communications blockade. 

“- Batman. _Batman_. Can you read?”

Thank God for Babs. “I’m here, do _you_ read _me_?”

“Thank _God_ ,” Babs says with feeling, and then switches to Oracle-professional: sharp and precise. “Dick, listen, Wonder Girl’s _here_ , in the Cave. You need to talk to her. The Titans are in town. I don’t know exactly what -” She makes a noise of frustration. “There were ninjas. Wonder Girl seems to think there’s a list of targets.”

 _Cassie, files_ , Dick remembers.

“It’s okay,” Cassie Sandsmark’s voice says in the distance. “Tim said we’ve got enough people. Everybody’s covered, we just need to wait for check-in.”

Well, that’s helpful as mud. Also: _targets_? “Wonder Girl? Is Tim with you?”

“Oh, hi. Nightwing? No, I’m here with - you go by Oracle, right?”

Okay, so Tim’s been in touch with the Titans. That’s… good. 

He doesn’t want to ask this question, but Cassie Sandsmark was the one who alerted Dick that something was wrong _last_ time. Without her, he’d never have heard about Tim’s wild theory about Bruce, never have found out Tim was mid-breakdown. Not that it _helped_ much, but - 

Focus.

“Cassie,” Dick says. “Is Tim - is he -“ He doesn’t know how to phrase the question. “You talked to him? How did he seem to you?”

“I mean, okay I think? He found you, right? I know you guys and some reporter lady were the only ones he wasn’t sure about locations for.”

Locations _, plural_? Something huge is going down and Dick has _no idea what_. If Tim doesn’t have this - 

Dick trusts Tim. He _does_. Dick’s _brother_ , his closest ally. Always there when you need him. But the thing is, that’s _normal_ Tim. Normal-Tim still _exists_ , Dick _knows_ this, because he showed up when Dick needed him last month, to fight the Black Lanterns. But then he _left_ again, and he was gone for months before that, and he was unstable before he left and he was muttering to himself like a crazy person earlier, and if Tim doesn’t have this it’s gonna be _really bad_ : communications out all over Gotham, something to do with the League, not to mention _targets_.

Tension makes his voice sharp. “Cassie, _I need to know this_. How is he? Is he -” Stable. “Is he acting like himself?”

“Huh?” Cassie Sandsmark says, as if this is a _confusing question_.

“Is he _stable_ ,” Dick bites out.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cassie says in revelation. “ _That_. You mean, um, the gravestones thing and -? From before? Oh god, sorry, yes, he’s fine. I’m _really_ sorry, I should’ve said that first. You didn’t - ? I mean, sorry, it’s none of my business. Um. Yeah, he’s fine now. I mean, actually I think he was probably always fine? It’s kind of embarrassing. Sorry about, like, calling you and the, um, crying and things, back then. Thanks for not being mean about it. It’s just, after everything with Conner, and, I mean, _I_ wasn’t really in a good place honestly, and … Anyway. We talked. I mean I guess he _mostly_ talked to Conner but -”

Dick tries to mentally translate the anxious ramble into something coherent. _The gravestones thing_ is when Cassie called to warn him, a few days after Tim had stormed out of the Manor, that Tim was talking to gravestones and thought Bruce was alive. _Everything with Conner_ must mean Conner being dead. _We talked_ seems to mean she talked to Tim at some point. Today? Yesterday? Six weeks ago?

Cassie’s still talking.

“- to him _too_ , and he gave me like a flash drive? So I think it’s fine. It’s kind of awkward, I guess. I didn’t really have a chance to - did he say anything to you about me?”

“Wonder Girl, _focus_ ,” Oracle snaps in the background.

Cassie Sandsmark is a teenager but she’s also the leader of the Titans, nowadays: her voice immediately steadies into a more focused register. “Right, sorry. Batman, I know metas aren’t usually welcome in the city, but I promise, we’ll be out of your hair as soon as Rob checks in.”

“Okay,” Dick says slowly, “but -“

That’s when the ninjas show up.

* * *

Two dozen ninjas.

Not _nearly_ as many ninjas as Dick was expecting, which is weird.

And not very skilled, either. All the ninjas are recognizably from the League of Assassins, so _something_ is definitely going on with Ra’s, but Dick _knows_ Ra’s has better operatives than this.

Which means this is a feint.

Which means Ra’s’s _real_ target is somewhere else.

But _where_? What’s going _on_?

* * *

Dick and Damian have just handled the last of the ninjas - unnervingly easy - when the transmitter crackles.

Ra’s al-Ghul, sneering. “-worth the _compromise_ , Timothy?”

Tim’s voice, the new hard one: “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m _done_ compromising. Report.”

“Hey, Ra’s,” a cheerful young voice says, and it takes Dick a confused moment to identity it as _Superboy_. “How’s it going? Alfred Pennyworth is fine, by the way. Nice try.”

A chorus of other voices: _okay here, safe here, all fine_.

“Selina Kyle is super-fine!” Impulse.

“This is Manhunter. Jim Gordon is clear.” Manhunter.

“Vicki Vale is safe and sound. So am I, by the way.” Steph.

“Lucius Fox is alive. The two assassins are… more or less alive.” Huntress.

“The Madison girl is alive.” Man-Bat.

“Barbara Gordon is, well… she kind of saved herself.” Wonder Girl.

Tim’s contacted a half-dozen allies, scattered them across the city.

… Everyone except Dick and Damian has been given someone to protect.

A short silence. Damian’s giving him an impatient look. _What_?

Damian grabs the transmitter, presses the button to talk.

“Really, Grandfather?” he says. “Ninja? I’m insulted.”

“ _You_ ,” Ra’s al Ghul snarls. For a moment Dick thinks he’s angry at _Damian_ , Damian the betraying grandson, but no, he’s talking to Tim. “What have you _done_?”

“I realized you were playing with me,” Tim says. He sounds smug. “So this is me, refusing to play. Did you think I was going to run around the city, desperately trying to save everyone by myself? I’m not Batman.” And Dick knows what he’s going to say next before he says it, can _picture_ the sly little grin: “I have _friends_.”

The transmission cuts out.

And Dick _still_ doesn’t really know what’s going on, but the relief is quick and overwhelming, because that was _Tim_ on the other end of the line, he sounded like _himself_. The cocky lilt that Dick associates with dancing eyes and a smug little smirk: _Dick, I always have a plan_. _That_ voice. He _is_ okay.

Except, wait.

Wait, _no_.

It takes Dick a few disbelieving seconds to realize all the implications: Tim turned off his transmitter, and Ra’s al Ghul _stopped speaking_ , which means that everybody _else_ may have been using the transmitters, but Ra’s al Ghul - the immortal madman who was _talking to Tim,_ who is alone somewhere _without backup_ \- _he_ was not using a transmitter, because _he_ is apparently in the _same place as Tim_.

So. On second thought.

Forget trustworthy.

Tim has clearly lost his _mind_.

* * *

Sheer panic is great for fast movement. He signals Damian to stay put: the ninjas left here won’t prove a threat. He swings toward Midtown, mentally calculating possibilities. It must be a League base, Ra’s wouldn’t show himself out in the open in Gotham. But it can’t be underground, because the communication was too crisp. So: skyscraper, Midtown or the Diamond District. He gets Babs on the comms.

“The Kane building, Logerquist Highrise, or the old Babylon Towers,” Babs says at once, terse. It’s obvious she’s come to all the same conclusions he has. She must have been running city records, finding anomalies. “I can’t narrow it down further. I’m assuming a penthouse suite.”

Ra’s al Ghul would never settle for less than the very top, that’s for sure.

Three possibilities. Better than it could be. Better than he thought he’d get. Oracle is the best at this kind of thing, bar none.

Still not good enough. The Kane building and the old Babylon Towers are on opposite sides of Midtown. Dick can’t go to both places at once. And if he picks wrong - 

He’s lost way too much time already. Ra’s al Ghul is a _terrifying_ fighter. And Tim - Tim’s good, Tim’s not _bad_ , but _one-on-one_ with _Ra’s al Ghul_? Without _telling_ anyone? 

Tim is an _idiot_ , and Dick will _kill him_ , and then he will kill him _again_.

It’s just like before. Just like before, with Jason and the Batsuit and Tim nearly _died_ , unconscious in the Cave for hours, no apology no _nothing_ , the secrecy and the risk-taking, _all_ of it. Why did Dick think this was different for a _moment_. Off on his own, doing stupid stuff, _again_. 

First the Red Hood, now _Ra’s al Ghul_. What’s next, picking a fight with _Darkseid_?

Focus. Focus, focus, focus, you can’t screw this up.

“Can you get a location from the suit’s sensors?” Dick says. “Or his comms?”

“Dick,” Babs says, sharp, “it’s not one of our suits, it’s not in the network.”

Right. Idiot. Okay, _think._

The targets are Bruce’s people - Bruce’s old girlfriends, Bruce’s civilian allies. But the trap is a trap for _Tim_. _Tim’s_ the one that Ra’s was snarling at, just now. And if it’s a trap, that means Ra’s _wanted_ to be found, which means he picked a place that he knew _Tim_ would find. And when _Tim_ was looking for data, presumably when he was looking for Ra’s in Gotham, he hacked into Oracle’s network, which means that Tim was working with the same information that _Dick_ now has.

So this is solvable. It has to be.

Kane, Logerquist, Babylon. _Think_.

Not Logerquist - no good escape routes. Ra’s will want a fast exit, whatever his ultimate plan is. Kane and Babylon are on the underground tunnel network. So: Kane or Babylon.

Babylon Towers is possible. It’s a new building with a new name, not Babylon Towers anymore, but the _old_ building was indirectly responsible for giving Tim the Clench, and Ra’s al Ghul got involved later. There might be a nostalgia factor. Battles of the past.

But. 

Ra’s al Ghul is big on legacy. Blood. Inheritance.

And Jack Drake used to have an office in the Kane building.

Dick ran into Tim there once, completely unexpected, mid-afternoon on a weekday. Asleep in the lobby. Tim got stranded there, some kind of scheduling snafu, Dick never got the full story.

Drake Enterprises doesn’t exist anymore: it went bankrupt, collapsed. And now Ra’s is targeting the network that used to be Bruce’s: his girlfriends, his civilian allies. It’s not a perfect parallel, but Dick’s instincts are all firing at him: _yes, there, go_.

One father’s legacy gone, the other father’s legacy under threat. It’s the sort of symbolism that would appeal to Ra’s.

The Kane building.

It’s a guess. It’s a _good_ guess.

It better be right.

* * *

He gets there.

Lands on the rooftop across the street. Scans the penthouse windows from a distance, but even with the extra sensors, he can’t see inside. Doesn’t know what’s happening. Either Ra’s al Ghul is in there with Tim, or he’s not. Finding out is one swing, one smashed window away. He could find out _now_.

But instead he hesitates, hesitates, hesitates, because if Tim _does_ have a plan, and Dick interrupts it -

But what kind of _possible plan_ could involve being one-on-one with Ra’s al Ghul and still be a _good plan_?

_Batman. Trust me._

Last month, Dick shot Tim. It was a freeze gun, there were good reasons, it helped them defeat the Black Lanterns, but the point is, Tim didn’t know what the plan was, and when Dick said _do you trust me_ , and pointed the gun at him, Tim looked him straight in the eye and said _of course_ , and didn’t flinch.

So _trust me_ is not a request Dick is allowed to say no to. _Trust me_ is Tim calling in a debt. _Trust me_ is a challenge: I trusted you, now it’s your turn. Put up or shut up.

But Ra’s al Ghul is _insanely dangerous_ , and what if -

“Babs, can you get me visuals on what’s going on in there?”

“Nothing,” Oracle says grimly.

He scans the windows again, pointlessly. And again. And then -

Wait.

Wait, is that -

No.

_Nonono, move! Move!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: If you got an update announcement, I'm sorry! There's nothing new; I just split this into three chapters so it's easier to read.
> 
> Canon: large-ish chunks of the dialogue and the sequence of events, the parallel “trust me” scenes in Blackest Night and then Red Robin, Dick and Tim having the exact same reaction to Pru's name, Tim’s various allies and their protection assignments, and Wonder Girl being the person who tells Dick the Bruce-is-alive theory (Tim doesn’t come up with it until after he’s already been fired, and the only person he personally tells is Cassie). When Dick remembers “stupid stuff with Jason,” he’s thinking of the Battle for the Cowl, when Tim dresses up in an old Batsuit and goes off (without telling Dick) to fight a crazy Jason. (It doesn’t go well.)
> 
> Dick canonically calls Tim to ask for help with the Black Lanterns, and Tim picks up mid-fight and agrees to come back. I believe Dick is the only person Tim answers his phone for in all of Red Robin (we elsewhere see him ignoring his friends’ calls). Tim shows up in Gotham just in time to save Dick and Damian from a zombie Blockbuster, and then Dick sends Damian to safety and takes Tim with him to fight the zombies. After the fight, Tim heads back to Europe, having still not told Dick about the evidence he’s found in support of his theory that Bruce is alive (something he later second-guesses in Red Robin). 
> 
> An interesting piece of canon: Dick actually figures out that Bruce might be alive a short while before the Ra’s al Ghul fight (he tries to resurrect Bruce via Lazarus Pit, it doesn’t go well b/c the body isn’t Bruce’s body), but he doesn’t tell Tim this. Practically speaking this happens because B&R and RR have different writers who don’t coordinate with each other. But given that Dick and Tim once had a huge fight about Lazarus Pits - Tim: pro, Dick: against - I find it psychologically believable that Dick might have a hard time knowing how to bring it up, and I’ve stuck with it.
> 
> Dick calls Tim his closest ally in Red Robin; Tim at one point calls Dick his best friend. So there's a history of mutual trust, but this is a pretty shaky time for them.


	2. Rescue

A noise, glass, a body, and Dick _moves_ , because that’s Tim, _falling—_

Tim falls from the fiftieth story.

The human body can fall 16 feet in a single second. 

62 feet in two seconds. 

138 feet in three seconds.

* * *

Dick catches him.

It is a near, near thing.

* * *

(Seven seconds, 652 feet. Forty-six stories.

Eight seconds: impact.

But it didn’t happen, that’s the point. Dick made the catch at the three-second mark.)

After a three-second free fall, the human body can reach speeds of approximately 50 miles per hour. That’s doable. Dangerous, but doable. Every second increases the speed and thus the danger. After a seven-second fall, it’s a hundred miles per hour.

This is math that Dick knows very, very well.

If a human body, traveling at high speed, hits the ground—

If you fall. If there’s no one to catch you. If the lines are cut. If there’s no net.

It _didn’t happen_.

His heart pounds in his ears.

* * *

The body is heavy, limp in his grasp, and what if -

What if he’s -

( _It never ends it never ends it never_ \- )

Six minutes to Midtown, three minutes to the Kane building, two minutes wasted watching the windows. Eleven minutes. 

Eleven minutes ago, Tim was on the comms, smug and smirky and _fine_. 

But a dangerous fighter can do a lot of damage in eleven minutes, and Ra’s al Ghul is very, very dangerous.

* * *

( _Take me with you_. _That’s_ what Dick should’ve said. On the rooftop. On the transmitter. _I trust you, take me with you, I’ll help._ That’s what he should’ve - what he -)

( _So, uh. I don’t think this is gonna be relevant, but, like, just in case -_ ) 

Stupid, stupid, stupid little _idiot_ -

* * *

He swings to a nearby rooftop, carefully lays Tim down, tries to assess the damage. Tim’s breathing. He _is_ breathing. That’s something. Though his breathing is - labored, and that’s something else, something much less good.

Blood. There is. A lot of blood.

“Mmn,” Tim mumbles.

A minute ago Tim was unconscious, but the pain of being jostled has woken him, sort of - he mumbles another complaint, incoherent. Slurring. The slurring is - not good.

Every second counts.

Assess. Prioritize.

First rule with bad injuries: look for the blood.

There’s a bloody patch on Tim’s uniform that probably means a nasty stab wound to the gut. That’s the most immediate concern. Dick doesn’t have _much_ in the way of medical supplies, but they all carry emergency bandages. He can slow the bleeding long enough to get him to the Cave.

What else.

There are countless little cuts all over his body: shattered glass from the broken window. Low-priority.

That’s probably a dislocated shoulder. Painful, but treatable.

Several bone fractures if he’s lucky, _broken_ bones if he’s not. They’ll need to be scanned. Not clear if the fractures are from the fight or the impact. Dick _tried_ to grab him smoothly, but Tim was dead weight, unconscious, couldn’t grab on, which made the catch harder, and the angle wasn’t good, and - 

Don’t focus on that. Don’t think, don’t _think_ \- 

_Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease._

“... ‘ick?”

It takes him a moment to recognize the mumbled sound as his name.

“Yeah,” he says. Tries to keep his voice calm, soothing, keep the panic out of it. “You’re okay, Timmy. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay, all right? Any injuries I should know about?”

“Mmnn,” Tim mumbles unhelpfully. Then, pitifully: “ _‘urts_.”

The slurring is really really not good. Concussion? Brain bleed?

“I’m gonna take your cowl off, okay?”

It takes him too stupidly long to figure out how to do it, unfamiliar with the costume, and Tim makes pitiful noises every time he gets it wrong. _Finally_ he gets it off, and - and there’s Tim, that’s his face, for the first time in _months_. His eyes are closed, but he’s still awake, he’s wincing. 

Bruising and a bit of blood on his forehead, plus the slurring: so blow to the head with a probable concussion. Maybe worse. Dick can’t do anything about that now. They’ll have to scan for a potential brain bleed back in the Cave.

Forehead paler than his chin, like he’s been wearing the cowl in the daytime, too.

Pale face, narrower than it should be, older, unfamiliar. Who let you grow up when I wasn’t watching you. 

“Tim? Can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes a bit, but Tim must be at least sort of coherent, because he blinks obediently. Dark, dark eyes, dilated. Concussion, almost for sure. Both pupils are equally large, so they’ve avoided a worse injury. But his eyes aren’t tracking or focusing, lost in space.

“Tim, do you know where you are?”

Tim’s forehead is all tense, like he’s thinking hard. “I,” he hazards after a long moment, “I fell?”

Oh boy. “You did, yeah. I’m gonna give you a painkiller, okay?”

Dick injects him with a painkiller. Then another. It’ll make him loopy, but he’s _already_ loopy, and the trip back to the Cave is gonna be painful enough as it is. The pain must be severe. Dick picking him up again will intensify it. He’ll probably pass out again, but the Cave’s non-negotiable. Dick can’t treat these injuries on a rooftop.

Why did he let Tim out of his _sight_. _Stay alive,_ what a joke. 

“Tha’ waza,” Tim says. “A … dirty trick.”

Huh? “What’s a dirty trick?”

Long silence. Then, with slow but dogged focus: “You ... _suck_.”

This probably shouldn’t sting as much as it does, given that Tim’s clearly out of it. “I’m trying to _help_ you,” Dick snaps.

“Mnh.”

“Tim, I need to take you back to the Cave, okay?”

“‘s too far,” Tim mumbles. “Don’t wanna. Don’... tell Bruce.”

Oh god. “Okay,” Dick says. “I won’t tell him. I won’t, okay? Our secret. … Tim, I need to move you, okay? So I need to - I need to lift your head up a bit, okay, so I can put this cowl back on you. All right?”

Tim mumbles something he can’t make out.

Huh? “Blows the junction?”

“Beh. Lows,” Tim says carefully. “Or. Uh.” He trails off, makes a vague gesture with a hand, winces when it pulls the muscle. “Where’d I…? ‘unction or…?”

It takes him a minute before he gets it. Bellows Interchange. Sea Isle Junction. Dirty trick. Don’t tell Bruce. Tim thinks he’s fallen off a train.

Tim was usually sure-footed, but he’d always had trouble with the curve at Sea Isle Junction: shifted his weight wrong and fell, more often than not. And Bellows Interchange was under an overpass; you sometimes had to dodge debris and still keep your footing.

It’s not a bad guess, all things considered. Falling. Dick catching him.

There’s one big problem, though: Blüdhaven hasn’t existed in more than a year.

So: disoriented. Very, very disoriented.

“I,” Dick says. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Tim?”

Tim makes a noise of agreement, and when Dick cups the back of his head to reposition him, Tim leans into it a little, instinctively seeking comfort in the touch, blurry and trusting.

Like he’s a kid at the circus, like he’s thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, all of the years collapsing together. Like nothing has ever changed, and _home_ is still Dick’s apartment in Blüdhaven, and the sharp sea air and Babs laughing on the phone and Tim curled up on his couch, back when it felt like nothing could ever go wrong.

“Knew you’d catch me,” Tim murmurs, almost inaudible. And then, so soft, amazed, like he’s found a new planet instead of fallen off a building: “You always. You always catch me, huh?”

And he’s actually smiling, a Tim-smile, barely there, mouth tilting up. 

Like he thinks things are going _well_ or something.

Dick’s eyes are hot and the world is blurry, but Batman doesn’t cry, so Dick can’t either.

* * *

This is why Dick knew about the Kane building:

One day, a long time ago now, before Jason came back, before Blüdhaven blew up, before they knew about Damian, before Bruce died...Dick was a rookie cop in Blüdhaven, partnered with Amy. And Dick and Amy drove down to Gotham together because they were tracking down a Blüdhaven money trail.

It was a wasted trip: a fake man and a fake address led them to an empty room on the second-floor of the Kane building. A dead end, in other words. Kind of disappointing, but that’s life.

So they headed back downstairs, about to drive back, and then, in the downstairs lobby - 

Tim, dozing on a chair. 

It took Dick a long baffled double-take to trust his eyes. And then, when he went over and shook Tim awake: baffled squint, scrunched-up face. _Dick? You’re … here? …_ And then, rueful: _I fell asleep, didn’t I._ And then, when Dick tried to get the details: bus from Brentwood, and meeting his dad at the office, but some kind of scheduling mistake, and Jack Drake had apparently already left, and Tim was waiting, but: _he must’ve forgotten,_ Tim said, philosophical, resigned. _I mean. He’s busy, you know, and… yeah. I’ll text him._ A yawn. _Hey, so. I mean. It’s nice to see you, obviously, but - why are you here? Is something going on?_

 _Nothing much,_ Dick said, and then, not knowing what he was going to say until he said it: _Hey, you want to come back to Blüdhaven with me for a bit? Since you’re free anyway?_

Tim brightened. _Can I?_

So Dick talked Amy around into giving Tim a ride back to Blüdhaven with them, and Tim fell asleep again on the drive. And afterward Dick took the paperwork home to his apartment, and Tim re-ran an analysis of the suspicious bank deposits and traced them back electronically to a trio of corrupt cops under Redhorn’s protection, and he was so extremely smug about it that Dick was forced to get him in a headlock until he said uncle - for his own good, really, and also to remind him who exactly was boss around there.

And then a snickering Tim tried to convince Dick that various examples of foreign-language profanity were secretly foreign-language words for uncle, and Dick threatened to wash his mouth out with soap, and Tim said maybe Dick should get himself a swear jar because he sounded just like Alfred, and Dick said _them’s fighting words, Boy Wonder,_ and manhandled him into the kitchen and got him trapped against the sink despite some impressively determined escape attempts,and Dick was going to make a joke about washing and was trying to decide if he could _actually_ dunk Tim’s head in the sink or if that would be going too far and it would be better just to _threaten_ to. But in the end he didn’t do either, because at that point Tim dissolved into a fit of giggles and surrendered unconditionally.

And after that, they got takeout fajitas, and Nightwing and Robin busted the smuggling ring, and Tim slept over on Dick’s couch. And then in the morning Tim was already gone by the time Dick woke up, but there was a mug on the countertop, and when Dick inspected it he discovered that Tim had labeled it, “SWEAR JAR 3.0: THE RETURN OF SWEAR JAR” and deposited a penny in it, and Dick kept it on his countertop for months until they accidentally broke it in an impromptu wrestling match.

It was.

It was a long time ago.

(In a galaxy far, far away, Tim chimes in, in his head. The imaginary-Tim voice is younger than the real one.)

* * *

… They’re rebuilding Blüdhaven, nowadays. Dick’s seen some of the advertisements. He hasn’t been there. He’s not sure he wants to go.

Redhorn is dead, and all those corrupt cops are dead, and the apartment is gone because Blockbuster blew it up, and the fajitas place collapsed into rubble when Chemo hit, and so did Bellows Interchange, and so did Sea Isle Junction, and a thousand other places: the _other_ fajitas place, and the pizza parlor that Tim liked, and the cop bar, and the precinct, and the corner stoop where Clancy used to sit, and the house where Amy and her husband lived, and the chimney that Tim always flubbed the landing on, and the rooftop that was Dick’s favorite because you could see the street market. Every street he ever walked the beat on. Every building he ever protected as Nightwing.

Blüdhaven was Dick’s city, once upon a time, but all the places that ever belonged to him are ash.

But.

But not all the people are dead. Amy is alive. And Clancy is alive. And Tim. Tim is alive. 

He’s unconscious, and he desperately needs medical treatment, but he’s _alive_.

He has to be. Dick can’t lose anyone else.

* * *

Tim stays unconscious for hours.

That’s not surprising. The miracle is that he’s alive at all. Fighting _Ra’s al Ghul_ , by himself. Ra’s al Ghul is a master swordsman, an unparalleled fighter. Tim never stood a chance.

He must have known that, surely…?

Everyone regroups at the Manor. Dick’s idea. There’s more space there than at the Penthouse, but that’s not why. He feels jumpy, superstitious. If Tim wakes up—when, _when_ Tim wakes up—he wants it to be in the Cave. Somewhere familiar, somewhere he’ll recognize. The dusty computers, the chittering of the bats, that ridiculous giant penny, the dinosaur. The weight of all that history felt impossible to bear, last month; now it feels grounding. Dick’s watched over an injured Tim in the Cave a hundred times, a thousand. This is just one more time. He can almost pretend that Bruce is up there in the Manor, glowering at the Titans, reminding them metas are supposed to ask permission before coming to _his_ city. 

Dick and Alfred clean the wounds, disinfect, bandage the most serious ones. He’s banished the Titans upstairs, but it wouldn’t be fair to banish the other Bats. So Dami hovers sometimes, silent and watchful. Steph hovers, too, but like Dami, she’s uncomfortable sitting still. 

After Dick first caught Tim, he got Steph and Dami on the comms and told them to go sweep the building that Tim fell from, but Ra’s was already long-gone by the time they got there. All the assassins seem to have melted out of Gotham, too. Nothing to investigate.

The wounds are treatable. He’ll recover. Small miracles.

He’s lost weight. There are new scars, a lot of them.

If Dick hadn’t picked that fight on the rooftop, when Tim showed up. If he’d _started_ with _let me help_ , _tell me what to do_ , instead of forcing Tim to argue him down. If he’d called Tim’s number last week instead of putting it off—or refused to let him leave, after the Black Lanterns—or refused to let him leave, _period,_ back in the spring—

If Tim had just explained himself. If he had just _asked_ for backup. If he wasn’t a withholding, stubborn, secretive little _idiot_ with the self-preservation instincts of a drunken lemming.

_I thought you were okay. You’re always okay. I take the big risks and you hold me back, remember? You’re supposed to be the careful one, Timmy. I thought you had a plan. Did you think this through at all?_

“Master Dick, denying _yourself_ sleep will hardly help the patient,” Alfred says dryly.

Dick rubs his eyes. He’s right, but… “I want to be here. When he wakes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: all of Tim’s injuries, and, of course, Dick saving his life. Tim passes out after getting kicked out the window - his thought bubbles reflect, with satisfaction, that he’s saved everybody from Ra’s (which is ... an extremely Tim definition of everybody) - and then his narration doesn’t pick up until the next day, when he wakes up on a medical cot in the Cave. I’ve filled in some of the gaps.
> 
> The destruction of Blüdhaven is canon and is really, really hard on Dick. In pre52 continuity, which I use, Tim is the only Batkid who ever visits Dick there. (Jason comes back to life slightly before the destruction of Blüdhaven, but he’s in the middle of his Red Hood rampage; Damian is introduced significantly after the city is destroyed.)
> 
> Red Robin is a pretty low point for Dick and Tim's relationship; by contrast, way back when Dick became a rookie cop was at the time of the Transference arc, i.e. peak Dick & Tim brotherly bonding era: forcible noogies, tag, mutual teasing, Tim naming Dick's car, Dick surprising Tim by picking him up from school (on the bike, natch), etc. etc. When Dick gets the idea to take the departmental exam and become a cop in Blüdhaven, Tim is the first person he tells. (Tim’s reaction: "Man... _Officer_ Dick Grayson.” Dick: “Stupid, huh?” Tim: “Actually... it's pretty cool.”)
> 
> Dick canonically ruffles Tim’s hair when first meeting him at the circus; he does it again when he agrees to train Tim to be Robin; he does it again when he calls Tim “little brother” for the first time.
> 
> Bellows Interchange and Sea Isle Junction are canon locations, as are their respective dangers, and Dick saves Tim’s life when he nearly falls off a train at Sea Isle in the Nightwing comics. 
> 
> He also catches Tim while falling many, many other times.


	3. Reconciliation

The next morning, Tim is on the front page of the paper: new majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, fiancé of one of Lucius Fox’s daughters. Damian is outraged about the Wayne Enterprises part. Steph is annoyed about the engagement part.

Dick…

Dick _really hates_ finding out important things from the paper, but on the other hand, he’s ninety percent sure the engagement _can’t_ be true, so he doesn’t know yet how annoyed he should be.

* * *

He talks, briefly, to Cassie Sandsmark. The files Tim gave her are about Bruce. He doesn’t let her tell him anything else. Time enough for that later. And, well. He’d rather hear it from Tim, anyway.

Lucius Fox calls. Tim apparently gave him Dick’s cell phone number. Lucius clarifies - the way that Tim _didn’t_ \- what was going on on the other end of the call yesterday. Apparently, Bruce left a contingency plan with Lucius in case he became … unstable… in some way. As usual, Lucius refers to _instability_ so delicately, so tactfully, that it’s unclear whether he means _he’s spending way too much money_ or _he has been replaced by an evil double_. Like Jim Gordon, Lucius Fox walks a delicate line.

The contingency plan: paperwork to reverse Tim’s adoption and let him become an emancipated minor, and more paperwork giving him control of the company shares. Hush-disguised-as-Bruce is no longer in control, _Tim_ is. Or, well. _Lucius_ is in control, the way he always has been, but Tim’s name is on the paperwork now.

This is the thing that Lucius has been trying to talk to Dick about, trying to put into motion. Stranger and less-threatening than Dick imagined.

It’s a very _Bruce_ plan, Dick has to admit.

 _Why Tim, why not me_ , he wonders. There’s a faint echo of old jealousy, long lost, far away, but it fades, and then it’s just a genuine question. Emancipation is needlessly convoluted; Dick’s _already_ an adult; it would’ve been simpler to name _him_. So why not do _that_? Is this like Bruce’s last message, telling Dick he didn’t have to be Batman - Bruce trying to give him freedom, awkwardly, uncomfortably? Or maybe it’s a geography thing? Maybe Bruce picked Tim because he assumed Tim would be here, close to Wayne Enterprises, and Dick would be in New York? Or - uncomfortable thought, but possible - did he just think Tim would handle it better, do a better job? Tim’s always been good at the socialite stuff, and most of what Bruce did for Wayne Enterprises seemed to be glad-handing.

He’ll never know.

It’ll be better, that’s for sure. Hush-disguised-as-Bruce was always a stopgap: Dick was always waking up to learn that he’d made some random million-dollar expenditure, always having to make midnight visits to him to threaten him, remind him not to go too far. It wasn’t a great solution, Dick’s known that, but it was the one he could live with. Bruce’s city, Bruce’s costume, Bruce’s kid… he couldn’t face Bruce’s company, too, couldn’t face the tangled blur of memories, or the old Wayne Enterprises building where Dick used to do his homework, sometimes, long ago, far away.

He didn’t want to deal with it. Now he won’t have to.

If Tim dies, Lucius explains - though he doesn’t use the word _die_ s _-_ the company will still be safe, because Tim and Lucius arranged the paperwork to ensure that everything will get transferred to Dick. 

Lucius explains this in a way that makes it clear he thinks Dick will find the news reassuring. 

But it’s really not.

“Did he think,” Dick says, not sure if he wants the answer. “Did Tim think that was - likely? That there’d be a transfer?”

Lucius sounds surprised. “I shouldn’t think so. He’s quite young yet. I… presume that Mr. Wayne will take the reins again once he has recovered from his… incapacity. But it pays to be cautious.” Pause, then, dry: “I assure you, no matter what Ms. Vale may believe, Tim Wayne and my daughter are no more engaged in a coup than they are in matrimony. Everything has been done according to Mr. Wayne’s wishes, according to the instructions left when he was, ah. In a better frame of mind.”

Dick doesn’t doubt that. “Thanks, Lucius. You’re a good man. Bruce -” _didn’t_ , he almost says, “doesn’t deserve you.”

“Oh, believe me,” Lucius says, sounding amused. “I am well-compensated for my time. And besides…” He pauses. Then, careful: “Wayne Enterprises is a … worthy endeavor. I have always been quite impressed by Mr. Wayne’s … projects. And, well. Dick.”

His voice warms a bit. They’ve barely talked in years, but Lucius has known Dick since he was an energetic eleven-year-old, bouncing off the walls in Bruce’s office, and, well. It’s hard to shake the initial impression. No matter how old Dick gets, he’ll probably always catch Clark and Diana giving him fond smiles when they remember some childhood exploit, and Lucius is no different.

“Tim hasn’t told me the details,” Lucius says, “and believe me when I say, I’d rather not know. But when Mr. Wayne _is_ himself again… I’m sure he’ll be quite proud of you.”

It’s not _I know about Batman_ , not quite. But Lucius isn’t a man who wastes words.

They say goodbye.

* * *

There’s no point in analyzing Tim’s state of mind yesterday. Not when he’s unconscious. Better to just wait and talk to him when he wakes up.

Dick can’t stop trying anyway.

Cassie Sandsmark, with the files on Bruce. Lucius Fox, with the paperwork for the company. 

Dick was frustrated, yesterday, because Tim was hopelessly opaque, because Cassie clearly knew more, because it felt like Tim didn’t trust him. 

But. 

Hypothesis: trust wasn’t the problem, or not the _whole_ problem. Because there are signs of trust, scattered around, if you look for them.

Cassie, the member of the Titans that Tim knows _Dick_ trusts most - not Superboy, the one Tim himself is closest to. 

Lucius, with instructions to call Dick just in case. 

Dick and Damian, kept in the dark, with no one to protect: carefully out of the line of fire.

Because - maybe - Dick’s personal safety was non-negotiable. He was the backup plan, if things went wrong, if Tim didn’t make it out of this. The person for Cassie to talk to, Lucius to contact, the one who was going to make sure Tim’s plans succeeded if Tim couldn’t do it himself. Not that Tim _asked_ him to do it. But maybe Tim didn’t think he needed to ask. Bruce and the company: they’re Dick’s as much as they are Tim’s.

It’s more than he wants to be given. It’s not enough.

 _If you trusted me this much, you could’ve talked to me_, he wants to say.

He’s not sure if he’s angrier at Tim for being reckless or for being careful.

* * *

… Or maybe he’s misinterpreting things. Reading too much into imperfect decisions that Tim made in a hurry, stressed and anxious, no more calculated than anything _Dick_ was doing.

Maybe there _wasn’t_ a plan, not really. Maybe Tim’s choices were just instinctive, impulsive. Maybe it’s Cassie because she’s the leader of the Titans. Maybe Lucius’s paperwork is just a formality. Maybe Dick wasn’t given someone to protect because they’d just been arguing, because Damian had attacked, because Tim thought that it would take too much time to convince them to do what he said. Maybe the Titans know more because they were more cooperative from the beginning.

Dick doesn’t like _that_ interpretation, either.

He doesn’t know what he believes, or even what he _wants_ to believe, and the only person who can explain has been unconscious for more than twelve hours.

* * *

It’s evening, and they’re suiting up for patrol, when Alfred finally says: “He's waking up.”

“That's too bad,” Damian says sulkily. “He'll probably start talking then.”

Damian is the only person in the Manor who doesn’t get - at _all_ \- how bad this almost was. Honestly, it’s kind of a relief. Damian’s ignorance is sometimes more comforting than other people’s knowledge. It’s hard to disappear into a performance when other people _know_ you’re acting, and Alfred has been giving Dick worried looks all day, no matter what Dick does with his face. 

When Dick told Conner Kent, upstairs, that Tim was gonna be fine, Conner glared at him suspiciously and said that he’d _better_ be and that he didn’t know why they couldn’t take Tim to Titans Tower, and Cassie Sandsmark said sharply, _Conner, it’s not his fault_, _we’re all worried_, and then the two of them had a furious conversation with their eyes. 

When Dick told _Steph_ that Tim was gonna be all right, she said, gloomily, _I should’ve been nicer yesterday. It’s like, we always fight, you know? But - he was being such a jerk, and I was just so mad at him… Did he tell you anything about all the Titans stuff? Because he told me squat._

When Dick called Babs, he only got as far as _I think it’s gonna be_ , and then couldn’t continue, and Babs said, very tired, _Dick, just don’t, okay? Whatever happens, this isn’t on you. Tim got himself into this mess. You can’t save someone who’s being deliberately self-destructive_. And Dick said _you don’t know anything about Tim_ , sharp, and hung up on her, which was unfair and unkind and not something he should’ve done. Babs is worried, too. 

(But it’s also true that she jumps to the worst-case scenario, and _deliberately self-destructive_ is not something that Dick can handle, not now and not ever, and he’s _almost_ sure it’s not true because Babs also once thought Tim was a murderer, which was _ridiculous_ , but there are implications of _self-destructive_ that are so horrifying that Dick can’t actually consider the question logically and doesn’t know what to do other than not think about it.)

On the other hand, when Dick told _Damian_ , in the Batman voice, that Tim was gonna be fine, Damian relaxed minutely, insisted he had not been worried _in any way_ , insulted Tim for good measure, and _stopped_ worrying.

So, you know. _One_ person who believes in Dick’s bullshit. It’s nice to have _someone_ , even if he’s a ten-year-old.

“Why are you so horrible?” Steph is saying to Damian.

“Why did you start stuffing your costume?” Damian retorts.

They’ve been squabbling on and off all day, but… it seems companionable enough. Dick doesn’t know Steph very well - at _all_ , honestly - and they haven’t really worked together. But maybe a team-up is in order, after everything settles down. Every Robin needs a Batgirl, and Damian - well, Damian desperately needs friends. Maybe Steph could be his friend.

Everyone else has crowded around the cot. Dick … hangs back, though he’s not sure why.

Tim jerks upright, disoriented, braced for battle.

“Tim!” Steph says. “It's okay. You're okay. You're in the Batcave.”

“And your Teen Titans riffraff is upstairs going through my father's kitchen, Drake,” Damian contributes. “ _Do_ something about it.”

Tim looks at Alfred.

“I'm very pleased to see you again, Master Timothy,” Alfred says. And then, in mild rebuke: “Although you could have said _goodbye_.”

That’s Dick’s cue.

“Tim,” he says.

Tim looks over.

Dick has mentally rehearsed a thousand questions, demands, recriminations while Tim was unconscious. But now that he has the chance, he realizes… there’s only one thing he really wants to say.

“Welcome home,” Dick says.

"Ra's?” Tim asks.

Straight to business, then. "Gone. We swept the place and got nothing. You want to tell me what that was all about?"

"It's... a little complicated,” Tim says slowly. “But I think we're good for a while.”

 _We_.

That’s a good word.

 _A little complicated_ is not very helpful. But… well, Dick’s a detective. He can make an educated guess. Tim’s been running around Europe, and the League has a lot of bases there. He must have run afoul of Ra’s somehow. Dick doesn’t know exactly where he went, when he left after the Black Lanterns, but wherever it was, he must have interfered with a League mission. Saved one of their targets from an assassination attempts, or prevented a kidnapping, something like that. 

And Ra’s wanted revenge, maybe, and Tim’s not a _complete_ idiot, so he retreated back to Gotham, and Ra’s followed him here, started threatening people. So Tim called the Titans for help, and Steph, and Huntress, and Manhunter, and Man-Bat - he wasn’t being _completely_ reckless, he _did_ ask for help, even though he didn’t tell Dick anything, which, okay, kind of stings, no matter what the reason was.

But Tim trusted Dick in the _end_ , and the end is what counts, and - and Tim’s not slurring from the concussion anymore, but his eyes are the same, quiet and sure.

 _I knew you’d catch me_.

* * *

“How’d you know? How did you know I’d be there to save you?”

He doesn’t know if he means it as a genuine question or as a rebuke. Whether he wants to say _did you really know I’d be there and if so, how, because I sure as hell didn’t_ , or whether he means _you couldn’t have known and we both realize this so maybe tell me your plan next time, boy genius,_ or if he means _why do you trust me so much, you shouldn’t_ , or else _you have no right to still believe in me, not after everything, stop it at once_.

And a thousand other things, locked in his throat. Were you the person I was supposed to protect, why didn’t you say so _._ What would you have done if I wasn’t there. Do you understand that you could have _died_ , I thought you were going to fall to your death in front of me, how _dare_ you, you of all people should know better. What the hell kind of a plan was that. Ra’s al Ghul, and you didn’t _tell_ me. You tried to save me and you didn’t plan backup for yourself, don’t think I didn’t notice, don’t _ever_ do it again.

Tim’s watching him, again. Like on the rooftop, when they were in masks.

But it’s different. His face is open instead of closed, searching. He looks, maybe, like he did after they had the Lazarus Pit fight. When he finally gave in, let go, stopped fighting, slumped against Dick like his strings had been cut. Eyes fixed on Dick and full of some emotion Dick couldn’t parse: trust, or gratitude, or surprised relief. Or maybe like when he was a kid having nightmares, and Dick used to sit up next to him, and when he woke up he’d go still like he couldn’t quite believe Dick was really there.

“You’re my brother,” Tim says, soft. Ducks his head, shy little smile, there and gone. “You’ll always be there for me.”

It’s such a strange thing to say after this whole year, all the months when Dick wasn’t there for him _at all_ , but—but he sounds like he means it, like Dick has finally done something right. One lucky, terrifying catch—one he almost didn’t even make—and he’s made up for everything he screwed up all year. He both wants it to be true and can’t quite believe it. It’s an old, familiar feeling, like every really important thing Tim’s ever said to him, hushed and painful and urgent, _he needs you_ and _you’re the one who taught me not to be afraid of the truth_ and _you can’t keep beating yourself up like this_ and _take it, it’s yours_ , all the way back to the beginning. Dick argues, usually. But he _wants_ it to be true, and…

This time. This time, he doesn’t argue.

“Bruce is alive,” Tim says. “He’s lost in time. I can _prove_ it. I have evidence. I’m not crazy. I know this is hard to hear, but please… believe in me.”

“…Okay,” Dick says. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

"And don't think your little power play at Wayne Enterprises is going to stand, either,” Damian puts in. “I've already filed seventeen motions with the board for a ‘no confidence’ vote.”

"That's great, Damian,” Tim says, dry. “Thanks."

* * *

They talk.

It takes a bit of time to arrange.

The Titans are impatient to see Tim now that he’s awake, and there aren’t many places to sit in the Cave, so Dick suggests they all regroup upstairs at one of the round coffee tables. _Upstairs_ means Dick and Steph and Dami all need to change out of costume. Alfred heads up immediately to get things ready, and Steph and Dami follow soon after.

Tim doesn’t want to go upstairs while still half-undressed—Dick and Alfred had to strip off most of his costume earlier—so Dick sticks around in the Cave to help him get a plain white shirt and jeans over the bandaged injuries. Despite Dick’s best efforts, he winces through the entire thing. The glass shards have left scratches everywhere.

 _Calm_ , he has to stay calm. Now that it’s clear Tim is really okay, the adrenaline crash is hitting, making Dick feel a little shaky.

But this _isn’t_ the time for an emotional outburst, so Dick keeps his voice calm and straightforward ( _Batman_ ) as he helps Tim stand up from the cot. What he’d really like to do is grab the kid and—and hug him or _shake_ him, Dick’s not sure, but either one would just exacerbate the injuries. Wants to say: _I thought you were dying. You insufferable little idiot. Don’t ever do that to me again._

He doesn’t say any of that. Tim’s _here_ , and Dick is _not_ gonna screw this up. Professional, calm, straightforward, no judgment - it all runs through his head like a mantra. Neutral. Do _not_ shout at him. No sudden moves, _nothing_ Tim can take the wrong way. 

Supportive hand on Tim’s arm when Tim sways for a moment. Tim’s doing his best _I am fine_ act, but once he got upright he took half a breath and fixed his eyes on a far point in the room, face very still. Dizzy and disoriented, almost for sure.

If he passed out again, Dick could _carry_ him up the stairs, which would be a _lot_ smarter than Tim trying to navigate the whole steep staircase up to the Manor like this, but there’s no point suggesting it. Tim’s pride wouldn’t allow it, especially since they’re gonna have an _audience_ upstairs. Dick _knows_ that, he _gets_ it, but his hands itch to grab hold anyway, like Tim’s going to vanish into smoke if Dick loses track of him for a moment. 

Not gonna happen. It’s _not_. Dick’s measuring his words as carefully as if he were Bruce himself, and anyway, Tim wouldn’t run out on the _Titans_ , right? He called them here. Tim would at least say goodbye to the Titans.

Tim says he needs a laptop to explain his theory about Bruce and Darkseid. He apparently already gave Titans a USB drive with his evidence saved on it.

“I just need to get it back from them and I’ll be all set,” Tim tells him, during one of their lengthy rests on the way upstairs. He’s covering the pain well, but he’s breathing heavily - talking makes the exertion more obvious.

He’s so _pale_. Dick tries to turn off the part of his mind (Bruce) that’s still mentally analyzing for possible injuries, tries to focus on what Tim’s actually saying.

Cassie, files. Dick knew this already, sort of. “That’s the drive you gave Cassie, right? When you called the Titans in?”

“Yeah. I thought it’d be safest with her. Just in case, you know?” Self-deprecating smile. “I mean, I figured it’d be fine, obviously. But, uh, what with Ra’s and—I just thought—always be prepared, right?”

Tim’s always so sensible. 

“Right,” Dick says, around the lump in his throat. “Just in case.”

* * *

It takes a bit of time, but finally they’re all settled: the Titans immediately claim the seats next to Tim, so Dick sits on the opposite side, Dami at his right and Alfred at his left. Steph is sandwiched between Damian and Impulse, but she doesn’t look bothered.

As soon as they’re all seated, Tim starts talking.

He _does_ have evidence. A lot of it. 

The very first piece of evidence is right here in the Manor. One of the portraits in that smashed-up room. It looks like Bruce. A _lot_ like Bruce. He found it before he left, and according to Tim, it’s _why_ he left. He saw that portrait, and researched the properties of Omega Radiation, and started wondering if Bruce was blasted back in time. So he went looking for ancient relics that Bruce might’ve created, and he _found_ them. The art museum theft in Berlin: a makeshift batarang from the 1500s. Museums and digs in Paris, Madrid, Berlin, Baghdad… he’s tracked down clues everywhere.

“Of course, we’re dealing with _preliminary_ data here,” Tim says. He’s wrapping up the talk now, with a professional frown down at his laptop like he’s presenting at an archeology conference instead of sitting at the Manor coffee table. “He’s clearly moving in both time _and_ place which means it’ll be challenging to pinpoint a single location in order to retrieve him. In order to do _that_ , I need to establish a sequential timeline. And in order to do _that_ , I need to identify when he was in Gotham. In the distant past, I mean. I’m almost certain there must be other traces...” He glances at Dick.

“We’ll investigate,” Dick agrees. “We’ll find him.”

The relief on Tim’s face is sudden as sunrise. “You believe me?”

Oops. Did he not say that before?

“I trust you,” Dick says, steady, meeting his eyes. He does _not_ let his voice crack. He’s Batman. “You’ve done great work, Tim. I get that there’s still work to do, so just—let me know what you need me to do. You can count on us.”

Tim’s staring at him.

“And you can count on _us_!” Impulse says enthusiastically, breaking the tension. “Young Justice forever!” He disappears in a whoosh and then reappears with balloons and decorative streamers, which he hurls into the air. “Yay Tim!”

The Titans are all grinning now. 

Maybe it’s what Dick said, maybe it’s Impulse, but it’s like some invisible tension has broken. Wonder Girl is suddenly a lot less stiff. Superboy is leaning back in his chair.

“ _Bart_ ,” Tim groans, not sounding at all professional now. His shoulders—tense this whole time, Dick realizes belatedly—have finally relaxed. One of the streamers has fluttered down and landed on his head. “Was that _really_ necessary?”

“You were unconscious for like a thousand _years_ ,” Impulse says. “I was bored! And worried! And bored! And you’re awake now! And Batman’s alive! We should have a party to celebrate.”

“We are _not_ having a party,” Tim says.

“Dude,” Superboy says, “you so owe us a party. You made us sit through your whole Powerpoint presentation—”

“That wasn’t a Powerpoint presentation,” Tim says. “Do you even know what a—”

“Rob, _dude_ , it had everything but the Powerpoint. And it was so totally unnecessary. Like, can’t you just tell us what to do? Instead of boring us to death with details? Because I gotta say—”

“Hey, Tim, Tim, _Tiiiim_ , what about a party at the Tower? I could run you guys over there and get donuts and—”

The kids are all crowding around Tim now, a babble of voices as they debate the pros and cons of recamping to the Tower for an impromptu party (Superboy and Impulse: pro, Tim and Cassie: against). Steph is hanging back, a little awkward—Dick can’t remember whether she’s met the Titans before. Alfred has retreated to the kitchen, ostensibly to fetch snacks but more likely because _they could get Bruce back_ and he wants to have an emotional response in private. Damian is—

Wait. Damian’s slipped away.

Dick should go find him. Or maybe not? Like Alfred, he might need a moment to himself. Bruce is important to all of them, but he’s Damian’s _dad_.

For a moment, he just lets himself breathe.

Tim here, the data, Bruce—it’s _real_. He knew before, he thought he knew, with the Lazarus Pit, the monster, but… even that… he could’ve been kidding himself, clinging to hope when there wasn’t any. But it’s real. Not for the first time, he’s impressed by Tim’s steady calm. The way he’s laid it all out—locations and hypotheses and data points—it’s like it’s just another mission. 

Find Bruce. Bring him home.

They’re going to make it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: some of the key dialogue, the newspaper headline, Steph and Dami’s respective annoyances, the fact that the Titans are hanging out upstairs at the Manor. Dick’s guess about what’s been going on with Tim and Ra’s is not 100% accurate, but in his defense, “a little complicated” _really_ isn’t very helpful.
> 
>  _You’re my brother. You’ll always be there for me_.
> 
> This is probably the most famous line in this whole comic - and one of the big Dick and Tim brotherhood moments, period. One of the reasons I was drawn to this story is because the line felt… kinda abrupt?... in the original comic, especially since we know from Tim’s earlier narration that he _didn’t_ expect to be saved. So I wanted to try to imagine how they got from a pretty tense initial reunion to a pretty touching one back in the Cave.
> 
> And then I thought, y'know, falling, catching... actually, there's a lot of emotional weight there, for both of them. XD
> 
> So there are a bunch of different ways to interpret this, but in my continuity, at least, that reconciliation is genuine, and pretty heartfelt on both sides. They definitely haven't fixed all their misunderstandings (or, uh, talked about much), and it doesn't help that they’ve both taken on new costumes which are in part about being deliberately opaque (I find it interesting that they both switch from masks to cowls in this era), which means they're having a lot more trouble reading each other than they used to. And there are definitely still unresolved issues - for Dick, for example, that frustration with Tim’s secrecy/pointed independence (running his own cases, not asking for help) is gonna continue to be a low-key annoyance long after the big rush of thank-God-he’s-alive has faded.
> 
> But they've remembered that they care about each other a lot, and the thing is, they care about each other _a lot_. So it's a pretty good new beginning.
> 
> I just want to note two last things about the line:
> 
> Dick starts calling Tim his little brother shortly after he first moves to Blüdhaven, when Tim still lives with his own dad, so Dick thinks of Tim as his brother long before Tim is ever Bruce’s son.
> 
> In Teen Titans/Outsiders, Dick tells Starfire that she should trust Tim, because he’s always there when you need him. 
> 
> So it’s kinda sweet that in Red Robin... Tim says pretty much the exact same thing about Dick.


End file.
